


run past the rivers, run past all the light

by biochemprincess



Series: lights will guide you [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Torturte, Post - 3x10, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biochemprincess/pseuds/biochemprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something inside Jemma breaks, but she’s not alone with it. They take care of each other. (Jemma & May & Daisy & Bobbi, post - 3x10)</p>
            </blockquote>





	run past the rivers, run past all the light

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies taking care of ladies. That’s all. Spot the (super obvious) Grey’s reference. (Trigger warning for allusions to torture and PTSD.)
> 
> Title comes from the song 'Home' by Dotan.

_Technically, the common saying is wrong._

_Atlas with the world on his shoulders._

_Technically, it’s not true._

_His punishment is to hold the sky on his shoulders, not the earth._

_And isn’t it just so much worse? Knowing there are galaxies weighing you down, constellations pulling at you, when you’re drowning in the births and deaths of stars every second?_

_How does one do it?_

_(How do you do it?)_

_Carry the endless weight of the universe and survive?_

—

They are not supposed to leave the base, but everyone is too preoccupied, dealing with their very own aftermath of surviving, they don’t notice her leaving her room. And she isn’t really leaving the base.

She takes the stairs up to the rooftop, barefoot despite the cold weather. But she needs to feel the ground beneath her feet now. She wears nothing but sweatpants and sweater, neither of these things her own.

Jemma looks up, finds the familiar patterns in the sky, constellations she has long ago burned into the back of her eyelids. They are so different from the ones on the other side of the portal; these stars here have names and a whole agency dedicated to them. The others don’t. Nobody remembers them.

(Like nobody will remember Will one day.)

Something inside her breaks, all the lives she couldn’t save, the body count written onto her body with their blood. There is blood and blood and blood and it doesn’t stop spilling, it doesn’t end, it never ends.

And then, she screams.

She screams into the endless darkness of the night, breaking the silence with a sledgehammer. She screams for ages, screams for herself and Will and Andrew and Fitz and May and all the lives lost. She screams until her voice breaks and tears stream down her face. She screams and screams and screams.

The cosmos doesn’t want anything, the cosmos doesn’t have control over anything. This is her fault and she’ll take the blame and she’ll fix it, even if she doesn’t know how, hasn’t known for a very long time.

She screams, even louder than she did during the torture, because she doesn’t give anybody the satisfaction of having control over. But this - this is for her and her alone. She wants the universe to hear her howl. She curses and insults and pours all her hate and pain into her voice, until there is nothing left.

Fitz had told her everything. Every detail, because she begged him to. If she had been faster, she could have pulled Will through the portal with her. If she had been stronger, she could have held onto his hand. If she hadn’t opened the containment box the Inhumans would still be alive.

So many people are dead and it is her fault.

“Jemma.”

She turns around, facing Bobbi and Daisy and May. Bobbi is crying, probably about the picture she must make, she realizes. So is Daisy, quiet sobs wrecking her body. May’s eyes are filled with unimaginable pain and she wishes she could take it all and make it disappear. It is her fault too.

“Jemma.”

They say her name again, but it doesn’t hold any meaning. Her body is hollow; it’s skin and bones and muscles; iron and phosphor and magnesium; heart and brain and lungs. But her body is lacking life and soul and purpose. She is a nameless ghost, this is her punishment.

(The weight of the sky on her shoulders.)

Her legs want to give out and darkness has a grip on her, but she fights it, fights everything. She doesn’t deserve to find oblivion in unconsciousness, has to bear it because this is hers to take.

She doesn’t know if she is moving or if they are coming closer, it doesn’t matter, the result is the same. Bobbi takes her wrist, fingers on her pulse point. Daisy takes her other hand. May leads the way.

(Maybe this is her punishment. Leading, when she doesn’t know how.)

—

“Can I?” Bobbi asks, gesturing towards her clothes and Jemma nods weakly.

Bobbi strips her off sweatpants and sweater, but leaves her in her underwear, and puts her in the shower. She shouldn’t feel self-conscious, because it’s not like they can’t imagine how she looks like naked and she knows they only want to help.

But she can count every of her ribs. Her skin is pale white, thin and fragile. Most of her body is bruised and battered, coloured in angry blue and purple marks. It doesn’t hurt, not anymore.

Daisy almost chokes on air, but she doesn’t leave. None of them leave her. They turn on the water and rinse her hair, clean it from dirt and sweat. It feels strangely comforting and if Jemma still had tears to shed, she would.

_He killed them all._

The words echo through her head, amplified by the running water pattering on the tiles. She stares up against the ceiling and closes her eyes.

_He killed them all._

They stand under the shower together until the water turns cold and the accusations are a little quieter in her mind.

—

“It is not your fault, Jemma. You might not believe me now, but nobody blames you for anything.”

“I left Will behind. I let Andrew out.”

It all leads back to her, it always does. She is the red string, the common denominator. How can they not see it?

May crouches down next to the bed, taking her hands in hers. “Andrew’s DNA is not your fault. Will’s death is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You survived. You survive. It’s enough.”

 _It’s only me,_  she thinks but doesn’t say,  _I’m not enough._

“It’s enough.” May repeats, reading her face and her thoughts. There is so much conviction in her voice, it opens a well of tears inside her, Jemma had thought to be dried up. Her body is shaking violently, using the last energy she can muster. Hands stroke over her shoulders and her back softly. She thinks they are Daisy’s.

And it’s true, she doesn’t believe what May is saying. But maybe she can get there, one day, again. Not tonight, but some indefinite tomorrow.

Her bed is too small for four grown women, but it doesn’t matter. There are limbs over limbs and elbows pressed into somebody’s stomach, but it doesn’t matter. There is a warmth that cannot be explained, almost serene, a belonging.

They are a family, not by blood but by sheer luck and dedication and choice,  and they take care of each other. Not letting each other drown, pulling each other out of the sea of guilt. 

Jemma knows it’s not over, not by long shot. It is only the beginning.

But she knows who to turn to.

One of them holds her hand throughout the night, she doesn’t know if it’s May or Bobbi or Daisy and it doesn’t matter. Jemma sleeps. It is not peaceful, but she feels safe, surrounded by three beating hearts that beat only for her that night and that’s more than enough for now.

Because her heart is beating with them.

—

_This is how you do it: Sometimes you let others carry the weight with you._

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'd love to hear what you think about it. You can also find me @ mightyjemma.tumblr.com


End file.
